


Take Notice, Take Interest, Take Me With You (052 Fire)

by senoritablack



Series: Big Ass Rickyl Table [8]
Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Porn with Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-18
Updated: 2020-05-18
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:01:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24248476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/senoritablack/pseuds/senoritablack
Summary: Rick asks Daryl about his plans after college. He doesn't expect Daryl's answer. AU.
Relationships: Daryl Dixon/Rick Grimes
Series: Big Ass Rickyl Table [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/311811
Kudos: 46





	Take Notice, Take Interest, Take Me With You (052 Fire)

They called them the dog days, and they had everyone lapping up water like communion and lethargic under their unforgiving heat. It had them pawing down to Bonnie Beach in packs, ice chests heavy at their sides, barrels of stolen lumber and cellphones turned off and tucked in their shoes. It’d been becoming somewhat of a weekly tradition among their floor—to do it _outrageously_ on the weekends—but one Monday, as he and Daryl hadn’t class nor jobs to see to the next day, they’d ambled their way into the cooling night alone.

They parked off the quiet highway, and hauled with them a six-pack and blanket. By the time they’d reared themselves up the small embankment and over rusting reminder of a rail system forgotten in time and technology, they were already out of breath. It always was a much easier time going down the dunes than up, and it was just as quick that they’d found a spot that wasn’t saturated with the changing tides of the day. It was just dark enough to have believed they were they only ones to have been alive on the planet then, but clear out enough that the smiling moon and her dancing children in the sky helped their eyes adjust to account for the faint difference between sea and land.

It was still so hot. They dropped their blanket down and laid their six pack atop of it. It had only taken Rick’s nod from right to left for Daryl to understand that they were to split up for wood. Rick was practical, and since it was somewhat of a college town, he’d know that if there was going to be any wood left, it’d been from the last bash—great big, half-burnt pieces that'd fire up as fast as they burn through. Daryl was the hunter, the explorer, a major in biology and knew dried sagebrush and yarrow would be best for kindling and thick, semi-dry driftwood for longevity. They’d been experts in fire lighting by now, so when they’d gathered enough for the night, they had soon found themselves casted in a warm glow.

Waves ran quickly up the beach and let themselves crawl slowly back. Rick’s and Daryl’s chests seem to have been tuned to the rhythm, rising and falling as the tide did. Wood splintered and crackled and popped in a song, and smoke rose in an accompanying dance. They sat at the edge of their blanket with their feet buried in the warm sand, lazily poking at the bonfire with spears Daryl’d fashion from the spare wood.

“This year’s gotta be worse than last,” Rick says.

He opens up a beer and hands it to Daryl. Daryl snatches it out his hand with a snort. Rick knows he complains too much about it, the heat, because Daryl seems to already know what he’s referring to.

“Only feels that way ‘cause you run warm.” Daryl says before taking a hearty swig. “Can’t walk from your damn dorm down to the showers without breakin’ a sweat, man.”

“It’s stupid hot! You know it is.” Rick points an accusing finger at the sweat collecting at Daryl’s brow, then opens up his own beer.

“Your idea to come down here an’ build a thing that makes it _hotter_.” Daryl says, tilting his bottle to the fire.

“Gunna get cold soon.” Rick tries. Daryl knocks him in the shoulder with his own.

“You’re a headcase.”

Rick and Daryl take slow pulls of their beers, and Rick grimaces when he’s retreating from his—he’s just remembered all the fires that devastated California the year prior.

“Think we gonna get any of those wild fires like last year?” He asks.

Daryl takes a deep breath, then frowns before shaking it off his face.

“Course.”

“Make you miss the south any?”

“Same heat.” Daryl shrugs, taking a sip of his beer, “Goin’ to a school near the beach makes it that much more bearable, though.”

Rick looks through the fire and towards the ocean. It’s nice out. The air plays on their skin like a music box that’d been rewound, over and again, softly chilling and coaxing them content them with each turn of gear.

He can’t imagine living anywhere else and he thinks that when he moves back home, if he’s gotta, he’s going to miss it something ugly.

He frowns.

Unless he finds a high-paying job right out of college, or several roommates who are cool as shit, he doesn’t think that he’d be able to afford living here alone. He knows that he wants to try, though, because he’s out lived the culture shock that came from the move three years ago and has grown to feel welcomed in, grounded—like a local. It’s the first place that he’s felt like his own person. First place to have felt like an adult and a child, where washing your clothes meant you couldn’t drop by the last hall on the left, drop off and pick them up by the end of the day from the same woman who’d previously scolded you for the dishes you’d left in the sink. He washed his own laundry, he paid his own bills, and he eventually washed his own dishes. Here, where it had him in a child-like awe, wandering and learning and teaching; swimming blindly into the depths of a new town in a new state with new words and foods and cultures and things he didn’t know were an issue and things he didn’t know were, well, things. Feelings that he’s never dwelled too long on or even expected.Daryl been wildly unexpected. Funny how they’d been born a town away, but met in another state.

Rick just manages to just see Daryl’s foot shuffle off sand, but isn’t quick enough, and is nearly knocked over by the kick.

“What?” Rick says, brushing sand off his side.

“What you mean, what? That look on your face—must’a done bad on that anthropology midterm, huh?”

Rick hides a smile behind a palm.

“Been thinkin’…”

“No shit.” Daryl says, downing the rest of his beer.

He reaches over Rick to stuff the bottle back into the carton. Rick’s label has been peeled further down than he’s drunk. He hasn’t noticed. Daryl has, apparently, and snatches right out his hand to inspect it. Rick goes for it but Daryl keeps it just out of reach.

“Hey, just ‘cause you’re a glutton don’t mean I can’t sit back and enjoy mine.” Rick says, trying, but without much effort, to get his beer back.

“‘Cept enjoyin’ a drink usually involves drinkin’ it.” Daryl says.

He tries to soothe back where Rick had been peeling off the label, before thinking it was probably useless by now, and rips it off in one go, throwing it into the fire. It lights up wildly and in unnatural colors.

“Do it?” Rick asks, shifting sand through his fingers, “And how am I suppose to enjoy my drink if you stole it?”

Daryl smirks, and clearly doesn’t intend to give his beer back, because he extends his arm and when Rick’s met him halfway, he withdraws and takes a quick swig. He does it a few more times, and Rick falls for it each time. He only stops pretending when Rick’s pinches his thigh.

“Ow, good lord—I surrender. Anyway, that where the thought ends, huh? You just been…thinking.”

Rick laughs. He’s trying to gather his thoughts, because as articulate and charming as his communication teachers make him out to be, it’s not all natural. He’s got the capacity to be meticulous and quick witted, sure, but the beer has got him thinking a little slower than usual.

“What’s your plan?” He decides to begin with. 

“Plan?” Daryl ask, rubbing at his chin.

“You know, like, after we graduate. Where you goin’?”

“If all ends well, wildlife and fisheries.”

“Not talking about work.”

“Then what the hell’re you talking’ ‘bout?”

“Mean, well, am—am I” Rick stutters, and fiddles withe fire some, “am I there with you?”

Daryl looks uncomfortable and a little more than unimpressed. 

“Where’s this coming from?” He says, motioning to towards the beer.

Rick frowns and opens another for Daryl.

“That a no?”

“No, it’s a ‘we got a year to figure it out an' I’m really not trying to get senioritis when I’m not even technically a senior yet.’”

“Fine. Sorry I brought it up.”

And Rick feels hot in the neck, at the tip go his ears, in his cheeks, but it don’t burn just at the surface—it’s boiling his insides.He doesn’t want to be mad. Hadn’t intended to be mad, hadn’t intended to have this conversation tonight, but as they’d eventually have to have it and seem to have started it, he feels angry at Daryl’s straight out refusal to finish it. Rick never once doubted what he meant to Daryl. Not in the three years they’ve been together. But graduation will be here. And he’s gotta know. He deserves to know.

“We’re not seriously gunna fight on a monday?” Daryl’s says, shuffling closer to Rick.

Rick closes his eyes, downs what's left of his beer in one go, and doesn’t open them until Daryl’s knees are knocking into his. Rick pulls on his warm ears, rubs into his eyes, tries to school his face. He feels embarrassed for having been the only one thinking about this, but it is a Monday, and it had been a long week. He takes a deep breath. Lets the anger fade. He could salvage the night. He puts on his most deceitful smile.

“Why? Day’s good as any, and plus, I’m busy tomorrow. Got debate.” Rick finally answers, adjusting himself so he’s leaning into Daryl’s space.

He takes Daryl’s beer and swallows down all of that too. Rick deposits both empty bottles back into the holder, and brushes a kiss to Daryl’s neck and stays there a bit—just breathing and trying his damnedest to focus in on the moment—before retreating, and lying down on his back. He’s props himself on his elbows, and watches the fire grow taller when Daryl absently middle throws more brush into it.

“Dick.”Daryl snorts.

“Mm, now that’s one way to relieve the tension.” Rick

“You’re the worst.” Daryl says and turns to look at Rick.

Rick invites him over with a incline of his head, happy when Daryl’s got the message. He's giddy that it always works like that, them, and that they'd just fell into this telepathic like bond. They both weren't big talkers, and when it came down to it, they both felt strongly that actions were bolder, more surer than any drawn out conversation could be. He wonders if it's why Daryl's not comfortable talking about their future. Maybe he just expects Rick to get it. He doesn't. Then again, maybe he's missed something. He frowns as Daryl climbs over him, knees on either side of him and poking two bony fingers into his heart.

“You’re still thinkin’” Daryl says, his face masked.

Rick starts to protest, rubbing at the sore spots, but Daryl’s astute. He does what he’s been know to do when Rick’s upset, he whispers an apology along Rick’s throat and again, into his mouth, cutting off whatever retort Rick’s got cooking. Rick’s shocked still, letting Daryl curl his fingers into his hair, bring Rick up to his level again until Rick’s necks lifted into the kiss, neck exposed to the salted air. He's got a hand on Daryl hip and one propping them both up. It wobbles every time Daryl pushes in for more.

“Somewhere north.” Daryl moans his mouth.

Rick tries to pull back from him, say something like _what_ , but Daryl has other plans for elaboration. He’s seized the fabric that’s trapped between two of them, pulling away his own and Rick’s shirt, fumbling before finding Rick’s short strings. He’s undoing them, between kisses. Rick groans when Daryl knuckles kneed into his newly interested length. 

“You’re a city planner implementin’ green livin’.” Daryl says softly.

He tugs at Rick’s shirt again, and Rick shifts so he’s balanced, sitting up enough to help him, lifts his arms out the way so Daryl could remove it. Daryl still has it in a tight grip when he goes to take his own off, before tossing them both to the side. Again, Rick wants to ask, but quicker than the words can form, Daryl’s manipulating the question into sigh, as he bites and sucks into Rick’s collar bone.

“I’m out watching for endangered salmon.” Daryl’s says into his skin.

Rick’s feels like he’s missing something. He feels like Daryl’s dangling a line in front of him, and he’s grasping wildly for the end, wanting to be reeled in, but distracted. It’s Daryl doing the distracting, his hand sliding from where it was rested at the concave part of Rick’s hip and forming around his cock, and Rick resigns that maybe it’s been the other’s plan all along. That Daryl’s distracting them both from what he's has casted out there, the line that’s currently evading Rick, and Rick does his best not to be thwarted because these set apart strings seem too important not to bite and take hold on. 

“A lil craftsman house.” Daryl continues, and kisses sloppily at Rick’s chin.

Rick’s shifts, grabbing for the elastic at Daryl’s shorts in one second and mimicking Daryl’s hold on him in the other. It elicits a well deserve moan and harsh squeeze that Rick doesn’t reciprocate. He’s waiting on Daryl’s cue. Hanging on the man’s orchestration and words.

“Somewhere between freshwater and mountain.” Daryl pants.

Rick nods, unsure of where Daryl is going, but stays quiet in Daryl’s careful caress, hoping his compliance will prompt Daryl to continue.

“Three dogs.” Daryl says.

His free hands retrieves a small bottle from his back pocket. Rick barely sees what it is, _confident_ , he thinks, before Daryl’s uncapping the lube with one hand, unwinding Rick’s hand and sharing some. Rick’s forehead falls into Daryl’s chest. He doesn’t register anything beyond the blood pounding in his ears, not the crackling fire, not even the sound of the ocean, because Daryl’s hands are on him again. Because he’s gotten impossibly and uncomfortably closer, their lengths pressed together, sliding against Rick in small thrust into his hand that now encircles them both.

“And a cat we won’t really own until we do.” Daryl says with a particularly slow thrust.

Rick can’t even look at him, he can’t shift this way or another, wouldn’t want to—it feels to good to move now from the odd angle they’re in. Daryl seems just as uninterested. His chin resting atop Rick’s head. He presses his lips into Rick’s dampening hair.

“And then a quick, blink and you’ll miss it wedding.”

Rick stops breathing. _Wedding?_ What? He looks up to Daryl, but Daryl isn’t looking at him, not in the eye, at least, he’s watching his hand move between them. Rick doesn’t press. But he’s overwhelmed now. By their new found rhythm, by the teeth below his ear, the fire licking at his toes as he scoots himself a touch too near, but nothing stinging him from foot to head more so than the words that Daryl’s saying. 

“Just our friends.”Daryl says and nudges Rick’s nose with his, nipping at Rick’s lower lip.

Rick groans as Daryl guides Rick’s free arm between them, entwining their fingers around their cocks and tests the strength of the hold, with a forceful tug that makes Rick’s abdomen clench and Daryl rock into them both, before falling further into his calves. It can’t be any more comfortable than his knees, but neither of them are willing to stop, so neither of them will adjust stance either.

“And we’ll get tired of being asked when we’ll have kids.” Daryl says, panting over Rick.

Rick turns his face into Daryl’s chest, cheek pressed into it, licking around a nipple and groaning around it.

“So we have em.” Daryl says.

Daryl moves them ridiculously slow, and Rick just follows—desperate, clinging onto Daryl’s body and words, gasping like drowned man after air, until Daryl starts to move quicker. The way his heart swells and contracts would scare him if it didn’t thrill him. The fire steady beside them, and the heat of the night, leaves them sticking to each other, sweating where they’re pressed so tightly. Daryl moves like a possessed man, moving without of volition, sighing out expletives into the sea salt air and Rick empathizes, licking, tasting it all at the skin over where Daryl’s hearts rest.

“One craftsman house and two kids, three dogs and a cat, and you and me.” Daryl manages to say.

And for a while, Rick thinks that it. For a while, that’s all that Rick can think in repeat— _you and me_. Because Daryl has set pace to the end, and it’s wild, and their rhythms are now opposing, and he doesn’t know who’s to come first, doesn’t care, he’s just wanting and feeling and loving in cycle, and he’s so determined to— it’s Daryl who’s seizes up above him first, murmuring Ricks name into his hair, and Rick feels him come all over their hands. And though it’s not as fast or strong or urgent, but with Daryl twitching and sated against him, it’s not long after until Rick’s arching, feet burrowing into the sand as they curl, and he’s spilling himself too. Rick clings onto Daryl, wrapping his arms around him, so he won’t fall back, as Daryl instinctively wraps himself around Rick’s neck. He’s back on his knees, though they are haphazardly kept up at best.

“And we're just really happy.” Daryl whispers. He shakes in their embrace.

Rick holds onto to Daryl. He combs through everything Daryl’s said, everything he’d just offered. It’s finally slotting into place, the scenarios, they’re an elaborate answer to a half-formed question that he asked, only, hadn’t Daryl said he didn’t want to talk about it? Rick thought about it. He always thought about it. He thought about it a year into dating him, but he hadn’t thought about where they’d go, how’d they get married, nor the many pets or kids they’d settle down with it. But Daryl did? His hearts goes wild with something not at all new, especially when Daryl’s the cause, but afflicted in awe, stopped and then overworked in a way that will never stop surprising him. He pulls back, and tucks Daryl back into his shorts, before pulling up his own. He uses Daryl’s shirt to clean them off.

“Why haven’t you told me any of this before?” Rick asks between cleanup.

Daryl looks disapprovingly at the misuse of his shirt and Rick bites his lip to keep from laughing. Daryl laughs outright, though, ungracefully falling to Rick’s side, laying on his back. He cups his head in his palms and looks at the sky.Rick watches him from the side. He notices that there’s so much more sand on their blanket now. The fire’s gone from a harsh oranges, to glowing amber. It’s nowhere near completely dying out, but it has gone a shade darker around them. Daryl seems to notice it as well and nudges his chin towards the last of their logs. At his cue, Rick shuffles a few in, and they both watch silently as the flame consumes them and their bonfire breathes in new life.

“Didn’t want you think I, I dunno, expect anything.” Daryl says after a few minutes.

He sounds distant. Rick sit’s up and hangs this arms over his knees. He doesn’t reach for Daryl, like he wants to, and he quits looking at him. He reckons Daryl’ll come join him when he’s wrapped his head around what he’d just confessed to Rick. Come back to Rick when he’s ready to. Rick sighs, absentmindedly brushing the sand off his shins.

“Expect any—that was a textbook five year. And I dunno, man, what if I want that? All of it, just like that?”

Daryl finally joins him. He’s hanging over his knees now too, face buried into his hands.

“Rick, we don’t know that the future will bring _all that_.” He says between his fingers.

Daryl sounds scared. _Scared?_ Rick reaches around for one of Daryl's wrist, thumbing circles into the pulse there before his fingers fall into the spaces Daryl's welcome him. He let's their hands fall naturally between them. The movement makes Daryl finally look at him.

“Fair enough, but we can make damn sure it comes close. As long as you’re sure, as long as it’s _you and me_.” Rick says, nodding towards the beer.

Daryl grabs a couple. He lodges them between his knees and pops them open with his free hand. Rick sorta likes that he doesn’t let go.

“Yeah?” Daryl asks, handing Rick a beer.

“Yeah, and _we’re just really happy_.”

Rick lifts his bottle in salute, and after Daryl’s clinks against it, they both take a long swallow. And Rick’s suddenly not hot anymore. Rick knows Daryl’s sensing it too. It’s a change in temperature. Be it the cooling night or tired fire, or beer or density of their conversation—it’s suddenly warm enough, suddenly just right.

**Author's Note:**

> Just some fluffy, sexy time college au with our dudes down at the beach because I couldn't get the idea of them sharing a bonfire bang out of my head. (Still can't.) Thanks for reading, hope you're well.


End file.
